


Incentive

by TheCookieOfDoom



Series: Estranged [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Comfort No Hurt, Fluff and Smut, Intimacy, M/M, idek how to tag this just know that it's Soft and Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 18:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30076281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: After months over overworking himself past his limits, Mitch finally passes out at work; Sean bullies him into taking a week off, and Stiles promises to make sure he stays there. It shouldn't be too hard.
Relationships: Mitch Rapp/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Estranged [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1320650
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	Incentive

**Author's Note:**

> So there is actually a fuckton of plot going on around this story, but it's way too much to get into for what was intended as a quick excuse for smut. Given that it's been two months, it wasn't very quick! But let's just say Mitch has a pretty good reason for overworking himself this bad lol
> 
> Important note: this takes place about 2 years after Estranged, give or take.

Mitch glanced at his watch and found it was only 11:30am. Stiles has succeeded in bullying him into a normal work schedule over the past two years—and it didn’t hurt having someone to come home to, at the end of the day—but that still left him with half a day until 5:00pm. 

_Will this day ever fucking end?_

Sighing, Mitch rubbed his face and blinked a few times, trying to make himself focus. He used to be able to pull twelve hour days without a problem, but now, his day had barely begun and the text on his monitor was already blurring. _Ugh, I’m getting old._

“You look like you need this,” Sean said, setting a cup of coffee down in front of him. The ceramic made a delicate _chink_ against the glass desktop, almost starting Mitch. He should’ve sensed Sean coming. 

_Damn, I’m out of it._ “Thanks.” 

“Stressed?”

“Yeah.” Mitch huffed a quiet, bitter laugh, pulling the coffee closer. “You could say that.” 

“Maybe you should take some time off. Get your head straight.” 

“I’m fine _._ ”

“You don’t look fine.” Mitch tried to wave him off, but Sean wouldn’t let him, pressing, “You’re no use to anyone right now.” Mitch frowned at him. 

_What is wrong with me that I surround myself with people that talk to me like this?_

“Did you even notice I’ve been diverting your calls all morning?”

“It hasn’t even been two hours—how many could I have gotten?”

“Four.” 

“Clearly they weren’t important, or you would have notified me.” Mitch stressed that last bit, but Sean didn’t budge. 

“That’s not the point, sir, and you know it.” 

_Then what_ is _the point,_ Mitch wanted to ask, but he didn’t. He didn’t need to; Sean has been campaigning against him for the last two weeks, trying to convince him to take time off. It was easy enough to pry into his assistant’s mind and find out what he truly thought of the situation. 

… _need a break…_

_… not helping anyone…_

_… too close to the case…_

_… might have to call Stiles…_

_He better not,_ Mitch thought with a scowl. Sean thought it was directed at him—technically, it was—and crossed his arms defiantly. 

“You haven’t taken so much as a day off in the past three months. Don’t think I don’t know; I checked the sign-in logs. I understand your concern, but you’re starting to fall apart. And if the quality of your work starts to slip—”

“It hasn’t.” Mitch may jeopardize himself with reckless abandon—though less now than he used to, also thanks to Stiles—he maintained strict standards towards his work. He wouldn’t do anything to compromise the well-being of his company, clients, or employees. 

“ _Yet._ ”

“Ever.” 

_Ugh, he’s so stubborn! I swear, how Stiles can stand to live with him…_

Mitch bit back a smile. “I appreciate your concern, Sean,” he said earnestly. “But I don’t need it. Rest assured, your henning has left me _quite_ awake.” 

Sean scoffed. “Make your own coffee, then. Next time I’m putting salt in it.” He would, too. They’ve been working together long enough, Sean knew he could get away with it.

 _And he thinks_ I’m _a handful._

Sean stalked off back to his desk outside, and Mitch returned to his latest project, nursing his coffee. 

_God, quarterly reports are so boring…_

* * *

When it came time for Sean to take his lunch break, he decided to check in on Mitch and see if he wanted anything before he left. He knocked, first; the blinds were drawn in his office, which usually meant Mitch was either conducting an important meeting, attending a conference call, or simply wanted to be left alone. No one had come for a meeting, and he didn’t have a conference call scheduled as far as Sean was aware, which meant the last option was the most likely. 

Mitch didn’t respond to his knocking, so Sean walked in anyway. He stopped short when he saw Mitch slumped over at his desk, clearly unconscious. 

“Mitch!” Assuming the worst, Sean rushed to his side and shook his shoulder, prepared to call for an ambulance. He had a horrible flashback to the last time Mitch collapsed in the office—and was subsequently rushed to the hospital—and was relieved not to find any blood this time. He took a deep breath. 

“Mr. Rapp?” he asked. His only answer was Mitch’s quiet breaths, not quite snoring. This time when he shook him again. Mitch groggily opened his eyes, looking up at Sean like he didn’t recognize him. “Oh thank god, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, ‘m fine,” he mumbled. He pushed himself up, looking around with a scowl. “I…” 

“I think you fell asleep.” 

“I didn’t,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed himself.

“You need to go _home._ ” Now that it was established that Mitch wasn’t at risk, Sean took out his phone and pulled up Stiles’ contact, holding his hand up when Mitch tried to speak. “No. You’re leaving. And you’re in no state to drive.” 

He pressed ‘call’. Stiles answered before the second ring. 

“ _What happened, is Mitch okay?”_

“He passed out at his desk. You need to come get him.” Unlike Sean, Stiles could actually get through to Mitch. _At least someone can reign him in. God knows he needs it._

“I can _hear you,_ ” Mitch snapped. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Stop acting like one, then.”

“ _I’ll be there soon. If he complains, tell him I’ll kick his ass later.”_

“Thank you, Stiles. I’ll pass that along.” 

“I hate you both.” 

“You’ll thank me later.” Sean slipped his phone back into his pocket. “I’ll reschedule the rest of your meetings this week. I don’t want to see you until at _least_ Monday. Preferable longer, but I don’t think you can handle being away much more than that.” 

Mitch glowered at him. When Sean first started working for him years ago, that would have been enough to send him running. Now, he knew Mitch was toothless. _All bark and no bite…_

“Bite me,” Mitch said. 

“Try and stay awake long enough for Stiles to collect you, sir.”

“You’re enjoying this way too much.” 

Sean didn’t deny it. Nor did he hide his wide grin as he left Mitch’s office. 

* * *

“You’re conspiring against me,” Mitch accused. “Both of you.” 

“If that’s what it takes to get you to take a day off these days…” Mitch glared at Stiles. Unfortunately, it had no effect. Any intimidation he might have had was overshadowed by the tired slump to his shoulders. At the most he looked like an errant puppy. 

Mitch’s scowl deepened. 

_Yes, you were supposed to hear that,_ Stiles thought, grinning. Even after all the training Mitch had put in, he still couldn’t read Stiles’ mind unless Stiles wanted him to. Most of the time, anyway. That meant Stiles could choose to ruffle his feathers for his own entertainment. 

“Come on, handsome. Let’s go so I can get my hands on you.” 

“Now _there’s_ some incentive…” 

“Is that all it takes?” Stiles pulled Mitch’s jacket off the hook for him, holding it out. “‘Cause I’ve been here the whole time, baby. All this coulda been yours for the taking, but _no_ , you decided work was more important.” He shook his head in exaggerated, mock disapproval. 

“Alright, you brat. Behave yourself.” 

“Never. Are you coming, or what?” Mitch snorted, but he followed Stiles out of the office, barely remembering to save his work—what little of it he’s actually accomplished, anyway—and turn everything off. He spent the long elevator ride to the basement parking level slumped against the wall with his eyes closed. 

Stiles took the opportunity to really _look_ at Mitch. He knew it’s been a hard few months, with the investigation and everything else seeming to fall apart around him, all while trying to avoid a media scandal. He was running himself ragged trying to hold everything together with the weight of the company on his shoulders. 

_I’ll get him taken care of once we get home._ Mitch needed rest most of all; the bruises under his eyes were stark against his skin, his complexion more pale than ever. And he’d lost weight, too. Not a lot, but enough for Stiles to notice. Felix had, too, the last time Mitch went in to get a suit tailored. He had the numbers to back up Mitch’s neglect of himself. 

“Hey,” Stiles whispered, sliding over to stand beside Mitch, letting him lean against him. “Still with me?”

“Mmm.” 

“I’ll take that as a no.” They were alone… Stiles snuck a quick kiss against Mitch’s cheek, and took his hand to give it a soft squeeze. He was always wary about being too affectionate in public—especially here, where he could be recognized as Mitch’s brother, and the fallout would be disastrous—but he couldn’t help himself now. He wanted nothing more than to wrap Mitch up in his arms and protect him from the world. 

Not that Mitch would let him. The stubborn man would probably insist he didn’t need it. 

When the elevator came to a stop Stiles moved away again, just before the doors opened. He didn’t let Mitch’s hand slip out of his own until the last possible second. _Soon,_ he promised himself. 

“Don’t pass out on me now,” Stiles said, nudging Mitch out of the elevator. He was dead on his feet, and a quick look around showed they were alone, so Stiles wrapped his arm around Mitch’s waist and let him lean on him. It was only partially to help get him to the car without stumbling; the other part was just because Stiles missed him. They hadn’t had a lot of time together, lately. 

“Woah, there, handsy,” Mitch said when he felt Stiles slip a hand into his pocket, feeling around deliberately. 

“I’m just getting your keys. _You_ need to behave yourself.” He pulled out the keyring and clicked the fob, looking around for Mitch’s car. “Not that you’d be any use right now, anyway.” 

“Why’s everyone so mean to me today?”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re tired, it makes you easy to bully.” 

“‘M not.” 

“Yeah, ya are. Makes me want to just pinch your cheeks.” Stiles couldn’t easily reach, though, so he pinched Mitch’s butt instead. 

“Hey!” 

“Just making sure you’re still awake! Oh, finally, there’s your car. Shouldn’t you have, I don’t know, priority parking, or something?”

“Probably.” 

“You should look into that.” 

“Sure, I’ll get right on it.” 

Stiles folded Mitch into the car, then circled around to slide into the driver’s seat. It wasn’t often he got to drive, and it took him a minute to reacquaint himself with this side of the vehicle. Mitch watched him with half-lidded eyes, leaning against the window. 

“You better not wreck my car.”

“I won’t.” 

“Not a scratch.”

“I _won’t._ ” Stiles wanted to act indignant and ask, _have I ever?_ But actually… yeah, he had. And reminding Mitch of that probably wasn’t the best course of action. The stubborn fool might insist he drive, even though he looked ready to pass out again any second now. _Guess it’s a good thing he can’t read my mind, then._ “Okay, cool. Let’s go home. One more thing, though.” Before buckling himself in, he leaned across to kiss Mitch. Nothing more than a quick, chaste press of lips, but it made Mitch smile nonetheless. “For good luck,” he said. Not that he needed it. 

Totally. 

* * *

They made it home without incident, and Mitch breathed a sigh of relief when the door to the apartment fell shut behind them. While Mitch was dedicated to his work, he couldn’t deny the simple pleasure of coming home. Especially when it meant they were finally away from prying eyes, and he could pull Stiles to him, burying his face against his neck, just breathing him in. 

“I’ve missed you, too,” Stiles said softly, his arms wrapped around Mitch’s shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. You do what you need to do.” 

_And ignored you in the meantime,_ Mitch thought. Now that he was home he wanted to collapse right into bed, but he wanted to be with Stiles, too. _We’ve barely seen each other. How long has it been since we actually spent time together, with no distractions?_ It seemed like Mitch only saw him for a handful of minutes a day, when he was leaving in the morning or coming home in the evening. Sometimes Stiles joined him for lunch, but those occasions had become increasingly rare, compared to their usual daily routine. 

Mitch pulled away to look at Stiles, tipping his chin up. “I mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You can make it up to me later, yeah?” Stiles kissed his palm and walked backwards, farther into the apartment, pulling Mitch by his hips. “Bed time, Sleeping Beauty. We can talk when you’re rested enough to think.” 

“Okay.” Mitch let Stiles guide him to the bedroom at the back of the hall. The first room on the left had been returned to it’s status as a guest bedroom; Mitch still got a little thrill when he walked past, sometimes. There were few things better than waking up to Stiles beside him every morning. When he took the time to appreciate it, anyway. 

Stiles took his time undressing Mitch, leaving his suit jacket folded over the foot of the bed for now. He pressed a trail of kisses down Mitch’s chest as he slowly unbuttoned his black shirt, until he was kneeling in front of him and working open his belt. The sight of Stiles on his knees was enough for Mitch’s cock to throb with interest—but nothing more than that. 

Thankfully it didn’t look like Stiles was trying to get him hard, so Mitch didn’t have to disappoint them both. 

After getting him undressed to his black briefs, Stiles lightly pushed Mitch back against the bed. Mitch fell back into the mattress without resistance. He watched Stiles scoop up his clothes and fold them over the chair in the corner, beside his closet. Then he stripped off his own clothes as well and joined Mitch in bed, climbing onto his lap. 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Stiles said, his arms bracketing Mitch in on either side of the pillow. 

“I know.” He put his hands on Stiles’ hips, holding him. _I’ve missed this… and it’s my own damn fault._ “It’s a good thing I’ve got you to reign me in when I don’t.” His lips twisted in a small smile at the phrase Sean used earlier. _Sean was more accurate than he knows._

“Mhm. Lucky you.” 

Stiles bowed down to kiss a warm path down his neck and Mitch tipped his head back to let him, his eyes falling closed.

“As nice as this is,” Mitch started, sighing as Stiles ran his hands up his chest, “I don’t think I’m up for anything too exciting right now.” 

“I know.” Stiles pressed one final, lingering kiss to his lips, cupping his face. A week’s worth of stubble scraped against his palms. “Just go to sleep, okay?” He threaded his fingers into Mitch’s hair, thumbs rubbing slow, rhythmic circles into his temples. Mitch had grown accustomed to the strange, cold pull of Stiles taking his pain. This time was no different. It left him feeling light-headed, and he didn’t have to make the conscious decision to let his eyes fall closed, sleep coming in like the tide to wash him away. 

* * *

Stiles pulled steadily at Mitch’s low-grade headache until the black lines in his skin faded to nothing. It didn’t take long; not like it used to, when Mitch had what seemed like all of New York bearing down on him. 

By the simple fact that Mitch was unconscious within minutes, Stiles knew he wasn’t doing well. Not that it was a surprise; even Mitch could only go on for so long as he had been. Pulling twelve hour days—oftentimes more—every day was wearing him down. 

_Hopefully he’s ready to let me help,_ Stiles thought. He rolled off to the side but didn’t go too far, leaving his arm thrown across Mitch’s middle and their legs tangled together. Mitch naturally gravitated to him even in sleep, relaxing into Stiles’ embrace. 

He slept like the dead for almost four full hours. Stiles didn’t think he could’ve woken him even if he tried. _Just goes to show how much he needed it._ When Mitch _did_ wake, it was signaled by a quiet groan and he turned to bury his face into Stiles’ arm. 

“What time is it?” he asked, voice muffled and rough with sleep. Stiles smiled down at him. 

“About four-forty-five. How do you feel?”

“Tired, still. But better.” Mitch rolled onto his back to look up at Stiles laying propped up beside him. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” Stiles smiled at him, tugging on a lock of ink-black hair. He came willingly when Mitch cupped the back of his neck and pulled him down for a slow kiss. Stiles sighed into him, still sleep-warm and soft. “We should take a bath,” Stiles whispered against his lips.

Mitch really couldn’t do anything but agree. 

Stiles kissed him one more time and said, “Stay here.” 

He fell onto his back, hands folded under his head, and watched Stiles leave. Traced the lithe lines of Stiles’ body with his eyes, admiring him, until he disappeared through the door. Only then did Mitch let his eyes fall closed again, exhaling deeply. He felt like he could sleep for another six hours. Mitch didn’t want to sleep away all of his time off, though; he wanted to make the most of his time with Stiles. 

The white-noise sound of the faucet was interspersed by Stiles moving around in the bathroom, opening cabinets and setting things down with soft _clinks._ Mitch couldn’t even guess at what he was doing in there. He could ask, of course, but Stiles seemed to have at least some kind of plan, and Mitch didn’t want to interfere; he may as well wait the few minutes it would take for Stiles to reveal his intentions. 

“Alright, I’m ready for you,” Stiles finally called. Mitch looked over; soft light poured out around Stiles in a halo as he stood in the doorway, leaning against the door jamb. The look on his face could only be described as _sultry._ He held his hand out and Mitch left the bed to join him, letting Stiles pull him into the en suite. 

The lights were turned down to their lowest setting and small candles littered the counter, bathing the bathroom in a warm, gently flickering glow. The deep tub was about half full with steaming water—already beginning to fog the mirror—and swirling with a layer of glistening bubbles. Stiles had also set up a small tray beside the tub with soaps, another candle, and Mitch’s shaving set. 

“What are you waiting for? Get naked, already.” 

Mitch took off his underwear and tossed them into the hamper in the corner, then got into the tub at Stiles’ urging. The water was just on the right side of too hot, the heat soaking into him, releasing some of the stress-induced tension. It was bliss. 

“How does it feel?” Stiles asked knowingly. 

Mitch tipped his head back over the edge of the tub to look at Stiles. He wasn’t really one for baths, but… “Amazing.” 

“Good.” Stiles bent down to dust a kiss to his crown. But he didn’t join Mitch in the bath like he expected, instead pulling away, and making no move to finish undressing. 

“What about you?”

“I’ll get in in a minute. First…” Stiles cupped the sides of Mitch’s neck, running his thumbs down either side of his spine, pressing in with light pressure. “I’m going to give you a massage.” 

“Oh…” Stiles kneaded his thumbs into tense muscle, working out from his spine and into his shoulders, nimble fingers seeking out tight knots. “ _Mmm,_ that feels really good.”

“You are so tense.” He almost sounded impressed. 

“You have no idea,” Mitch murmured, letting his head drop down. 

“I think I’m starting to get a sense of the situation.” Stiles held him steady with one hand when Mitch hissed, trying to flinch away from a particularly tense spot under his shoulder blade. “There it is,” Stiles soothed. Then he went after the tender spot with his knuckles. The deep pressure was almost too much to take; Mitch didn’t know whether to squirm away or lean into it. Luckily Stiles didn’t give him a choice, working at him until the knot released under his onslaught. “Are you drooling?” he asked when Mitch wiped a hand across his mouth. 

“Maybe.” 

Stiles snorted. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Stiles continued the massage, kneading Mitch’s neck and shoulders until he felt practically limp. Mitch hadn’t realized how tense he was until Stiles started to alleviate some of it. 

At some point Stiles stopped to turn off the faucet. Mitch didn’t even notice it was still on, really, so absorbed in Stiles working over his body. He didn’t know how long it was before Stiles finished the massage; one moment Stiles’ hands were on him, warm and thorough and giing him exquisite pain, and the next, he was climbing into the hot water and slotting his knees on either side of Mitch’s thighs. 

“I love you,” he sighed, leaning back against the cool porcelain and looking up at Stiles through half-lidded eyes. 

“I know. But I’m not done with you yet.” 

“I’m yours,” Mitch sighed, “do whatever you want.” He meant it, too; he would probably do anything for Stiles, right now. Not that that was different from any other time. 

“Oh, I intend to.” Mitch gave Stiles a muzzy smile, rubbing a soapy hand up his side. He wasn’t worried. 

Stiles picked up the metal tin of shaving soap from the tray, and the short, wide brush beside it. He dipped the brush into the water, then swirled it in the tin, working up a thick later. “Tip your head back,” he said, a soft command that Mitch easily followed. He painted the lightly-scented lather over Mitch’s face and down his neck, a thick, smooth layer that softened his stubble for shaving. After, he folded a washcloth over the edge of the tub and traded the lather for Mitch’s straight razor, the blade gleaming in the candle light. 

“Be careful with that,” Mitch warned him, but there wasn’t any heat in it. Stiles was probably the only person he’d trust with a razor at his throat. 

“Always, baby. Now shush, I don’t want to cut you.” Stiles set the cool edge of the razor against his skin. Mitch breathed evenly, his eyes closed, entirely trusting. Stiles’ hands were steady as he scraped the blade along his neck in one slow stroke, leaving smooth skin in his wake. “Not bad for a first try,” Stiles said. He wiped the blade off on the washcloth then repeated the process. 

Like the massage, it was easy for Mitch to lose himself in the rhythmic strokes, the white noise of their breaths, and the grit of the razor. He let Stiles’ position him as he pleased, moving without resistance. 

“You could probably use a haircut, too,” Stiles murmured. He stroked his hands through Mitch’s hair, longer than he usually kept it. “I don’t know how to do that, though, unless you wanted it clipped. But I like it long…” 

“You like having something to pull on, you mean,” Mitch said with a small smile. He didn’t mind, he liked Stiles’ hands in his hair. 

“Guilty.” After Mitch was once again clean shaven, Stiles kissed both of his smooth cheeks and put the razor back on the tray. “You’re so handsome,” he said, caressing Mitch’s face. Mitch leaned into his touch with a soft nuzzle, turning just enough to kiss the inside of Stiles’ wrist. 

“I love you,” he said softly. He pulled Stiles close, arms wrapped around his middle. Stiles met him half way for a languid kiss. Between the intimacy and the heat, steam rising all around them, it didn’t take long for Mitch to start getting hard, his cock slotting against Stiles’ hip and pulsing with need.

Stiles pulled back with a grin to say, “I guess you’re up for some fun, after all.” 

“Looks like,” Mitch said with a small laugh. Stiles frequently had that effect on him. 

“Good thing I came prepared.” Stiles picked up the final item off his tray, shamelessly holding up a bottle of lube. Mitch shook his head fondly; he couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised. 

“Of course you did,” was all he said, grinning. 

“Mhmm. I’ve got to take advantage while I’ve got you.” Stiles didn’t look at Mitch when he said it, and Mitch could feel the sadness coming off of him like a physical thing. 

“Hey,” he said softly, tipping Stiles’ chin up to meet his eyes. “I am sorry, Stiles.” 

“I know, and it’s okay.” Stiles smiled at him; that, at least, was sincere. 

Mitch cupped Stiles cheek, brushing his thumb over the fine arch of his cheekbone. “Forgive me for neglecting you?”

“Always.” 

Stiles came willingly when Mitch pulled him into a kiss, parting his lips for Mitch to slip his tongue past and giving him a little nip when he did. Mitch ran his hands down Stiles’ back, skin slick with steam and so warm, to cup his ass and hold him close. Stiles reached between them to take him in hand, giving Mitch a light squeeze that made him gasp. 

“I’ve missed this,” Stiles sighed. He dropped his head to Mitch’s shoulder, looking between them. The bubbles were almost entirely gone, melted away into the water, giving him a murky view of his hand working over Mitch’s cock, fully hard and straining into his palm. He stroked them together, rocking his hips just enough to feel the friction. Water sloshed against the edge of the tub but didn’t quite spill over. 

“Me too,” Mitch said. He squeezed Stiles’ ass, spreading him open to brush his fingers over his tight entrance. “And now, it’s time for me to get my hands on _you._ ” Mitch felt Stiles’ eyelashes flutter against his shoulder as his eyes fell closed. 

“Yes, please.” 

Mitch picked up one hand out of the water for Stiles to squeeze a large dollop of lube onto his fingers, enough that it wouldn’t wash away in the water. He circled two fingers around Stiles’ rim, teasing him, until he felt Stiles’ hot breaths quicken in anticipation. Only then did he press in with one finger, soon followed by another. Not as soon as he would’ve expected; it’s been a while. 

Stiles pressed back into Mitch’s hands, his back arched gracefully, and gasped quiet moans against his neck. When Mitch spread him open over three fingers Stiles bit into the taught tendon against his lips, sucking to leave a bruise. Normally he wouldn’t leave a mark so obvious, but... call it further incentive for Mitch not to go into work for the next week or so. 

While Mitch got Stiles ready to take him, Stiles did his very best to drive him to distraction, ghosting his fingertips down the underside of his cock, then squeezing him around the base. He used his other hand to focus on the head, rubbing his thumb just under the crown where it was the most sensitive, tracing and squeezing and rubbing until Mitch was throbbing in Stiles’ hands and stifling his own moans. 

“Are you ready for me, baby?” he finally asked, because neither of them would last long if they kept teasing each other. Stiles squeezed around his fingers, whimpering when Mitch crooked them against his prostate, and nodded quickly. 

Mitch helped him get into position, holding Stiles’ hip with one hand and his cock with the other. Stiles slicked him up with some extra lube, but the friction still burned when he slid down onto Mitch's length.

“Fuck,” Mitch groaned, holding Stiles’ hips in both hands. He canted his hips up just to get that much deeper even when Stiles was already fully seated in his lap. “I don’t think I’m going to last.” Mitch didn’t realize how pent up he was until now; he was on the edge of release already. 

“Me neither.” Stiles laughed breathlessly. He held onto Mitch’s shoulders, blunt nails digging into his shoulders, and rocked against him. He barely lifted his hips enough to properly fuck, not wanting to lose that feeling of Mitch being inside him after so long, even if only for a moment. 

Luckily Mitch made the decision for him, lifting Stiles up and pulling him back down. In the weightlessness of the water, Mitch could move him ease. 

“Oh fuck, yes, _please_ ,” Stiles gasped, tossing his head back. He didn’t know what he was pleading for—for Mitch to fuck him harder, faster? To fuck him slow and deep? To come already, or to drag it out, make it last? “Please, please, _Mitch—_ ” Whatever it was, it didn’t matter. Any way Mitch touched him brought nothing but pleasure. 

“I’ve got you, Stiles.” And he did. He was everywhere; beneath Stiles, around him, hot and throbbing inside him, hollowing him out and filling him again. When Stiles collapsed into his arms, boneless under the onslaught of pleasure, Mitch was there to hold him and slowly fuck him through it. 

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Mitch whispered against his ear. 

Stiles wound a hand into Mitch’s damp hair. It wasn’t a harsh yank, but a slow pull, dragging Mitch away from him. Stiles righted himself, still bowed into him, and pressed their lips together in a filthy open-mouthed kiss, riding Mitch to a slow and languid completion. 

It wasn’t an earth-shattering, world-changing orgasm that left them trembling and dazed in the aftermath. Instead the pleasure washed over them like the tide coming in, ecstasy coming in slow waves. Mitch held Stiles in the wake of it, basking in the feel of their bodies pressed together in the warm bath, breathing him in. 

Stiles eventually got off of Mitch’s lap when he could no longer ignore the ache in his legs, getting himself situated between Mitch’s thighs instead so he could lean back against his lover’s chest. He leaned his head on Mitch’s shoulder and pressed idle kisses against his jaw. Mitch caressed Stiles, traced the lines of his body, didn't want to stop touching him for a second. 

When the water started to go cold, Mitch pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple and said, “We should go back to bed.” 

“Sounds like a great idea,” Stiles mumbled. He was slow to get to his feet, though. He made it with Mitch’s urging, and the promise of cuddling more in bed. He quickly dried himself off, a lazy smile on his face while he watched Mitch do the same. “This was a good way to spend the evening, I think.” 

“It was.” Mitch looped his towel over Stiles’ shoulders to pull him close so he could peck his lips. “Go get in bed, I’ll put out all the candles.” 

“Yes sir. Don’t take too long, I might fall asleep.” 

“I’ll be quick,” Mitch promised. He kissed Stiles again then sent him off. 

Mitch blew out all the candles and turned off the lights, and found Stiles waiting for him, still naked, when he walked back into the bedroom. “That kind of night, huh?” Mitch didn’t mind; it meant he didn’t have to ask. 

“Yep. C’mere.” Stiles pat the empty space beside him; Mitch didn’t need to be told twice. 

Stiles draped himself over Mitch as soon as he laid down, leaving Mitch to pull the blankets over them both. It was still early, not even 7:00pm yet, but… Mitch was still so tired. And by the looks of it, Stiles was, too; he didn’t think Stiles would mind if they called it an early night. 

“Thank you for bringing me home,” Mitch finally said. He felt Stiles smile against his shoulder, and turned to kiss him before Stiles could start gloating. Because he may be able to admit he needed help, but there’s no way he’d say Stiles was right all along. “I love you,” he said once Stiles was thoroughly silenced. 

“I love you, too,” Stiles said, still grinning. “Even when you’re stubborn.” 

Well. Mitch could hardly deny that, could he? 

* * *

Early the next morning, Stiles woke up to the vague sense that some was wrong. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, and threw his arm over Mitch’s side of the bed. Empty. 

“Oh God,” Stiles groaned. There was no way Mitch was back at work already. _No way._ “I’m gonna kill him. I’m actually going to kill him.” 

A second later Mitch came through the door, wearing only a pair of lounge pants and holding two steaming cups of coffee. 

“Who are you killing?” he asked with a knowing grin. 

“... That depends. What’re you doing?”

“Making breakfast. I was actually coming to wake you up.” Mitch joined Stiles in bed, giving him a warm kiss, and handed him his coffee; a latte that smelled _divine._ Stiles wasn’t usually one for coffee, but Mitch would work magic with that fancy espresso machine of his. There was even a little heart design in the foam. Stiles took a sip of his coffee and sighed contentedly. 

“Looks like I’m not killing anyone, then.” 

“Good. ' Cause after breakfast, I intend to fuck you.” Grinning over the rim of his own coffee, Mitch used one of Stiles’ favorite catch phrases, “Many times, in many different positions. Can't do that if you kill me."

“Oh?" Stiles tried and failed for casual, mild disinterest. He felt his cheeks go hot. "What brought this on?”

“I believe I’ve got some lost time to make up for.” 

If Stiles finished his coffee faster than usual, well, it was only because Mitch made an excellent brew...

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it!
> 
> I feel this could very easily turn into a few more chapters of what they get up to for the next week. Thoughts? Suggestions? Prompts?


End file.
